


Hell to the Ones You Love

by stratosferrra



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratosferrra/pseuds/stratosferrra
Summary: Once the order was betrayed, she can’t stop making chaos.





	1. Chapter 1

Hugged by elegant black furniture Joan has found her place on the floor. Soft light of sunset makes its way through wide opened blinds and gently lies on Ferguson’s body and other objects in the room. It looks like someone has spilled maple syrup.

 

Pieces of papers are everywhere; it reminds of early snow in her homeland — something that she constantly misses.

 

And the mess… Well, she’ll clean it later.

 

Her eyes aren’t stone cold anymore, but vulnerable. The weak sunlight is allowed to get through them, make them lighter. Joan needs more of it though. She wishes the Cosmic Father could blind her, so she wouldn’t see glimpses of her own.

 

“Get up, you poor thing”, she hears from above and gets irritated akin to tender skin, when Ivan pressed his unshaven cheek against hers. Those were odd attempts to calm the little girl down after another nightmare. She was ten back then.

 

Familiar voice disgusts her now. Ferguson needs silence to clean her up. This is a proven medicine for the damaged brain. She lifts her hands. Nervous wrist twists help to concentrate; it helps to get rid of ghosts from the past.

 

Firm knock on the door disturbs her weird meditation.

 

She doesn't answer. Everybody knows it's inappropriate to come in the office without Ferguson's permission. Someone enters anyway and Joan gets wild by the rudeness of a visitor. Her eyes eat the sunlight alive, wreck it, turn it into Hell's burning fire.

 

"Governor?", Vera says before noticing the scenery of thrown papers and folders. She gets sensation of danger. She doesn't close the door behind her, leaving an escape route for herself. Miss Bennett assumes she hears woman's fierce breathing, but it's just her fertile imagination.

 

Whatever it is Vera feels Joan's presence.

 

Ferguson remains quiet and Vera risks her life to come and find her boss on the floor, right behind the solid desk. The latter looks like a poisonous tarantula, hiding in a dark corner of a house for God knows why. It either wants to kill you or it's just scared itself.

 

Their eyes meet and Vera wants to leave, but in a quite insecure tone she mumbles, "Are you alright?"

 

Joan pretends to be a lifeless corpse, so Vera won’t notice her blood-pouring heart.

 

Ferguson’s tie is loosened, a few buttons of the white shirt are undone. Messy woman definitely fits in the environment.

 

"You have a meeting with the Board at nine, remember?", Vera continues.

 

"Get out", Ferguson’s gaze is a heavy one; it's able to choke a human and Miss Bennett feels suffocated already.

 

"I'm sorry".

 

Vera is a tender creature; her eyes become watered way too fast. She leaves the office immediately and walks down the prison corridor, stopping on the halfway to calm herself down.

 

Joan hasn't heard slam of the door. _“Maybe **I’m deaf**?”_, she thinks.

 

But her father’s voice starts again, “Can’t spend a day without hurting a living thing, can you?”

 

“It was too easy”, Ferguson finally gets up, “I didn't even try”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader, you've come a long way! Excuse my poor vocabulary and writing skill. It's my first try to express thoughts in foreign language. I'll be happy to see your healthy criticism and language corrections, just be gentle with me please, I'm as tender as Miss Bennett <3


	2. Chapter 2

Joan is striding down the prison tunnels like a programmed machine. No needless turns of the head, no blinks. Footsteps like gunshots echo in the back of her skull. She doesn’t pay much of attention to it; the mechanisms of the brain are properly oiled now. Ferguson is nothing like that mad woman, who threw things at the no longer existed people half an hour ago. With her petroleum eyes, she is focused on the door right at the end of the corridor.

 

Sound of footsteps gets doubled. Ferguson can easily recognize her short-legged Deputy.

 

"Gov… Governor", Vera tries to speed up and chase her boss.

 

When there is nowhere to hide, tarantula attacks. Joan turns around and backs Vera up against the wall.

 

"Can I help you, Vera?"

 

Bennett feels mild pain in her nape as it hits the wall.

 

"I… W-wanted to apologize", she gives a nervous smile, glancing at Ferguson's face in front of hers. The woman has bent to level to Vera's eyes.

 

"You shouldn’t”, Joan's face features soften," There is no need".

 

That’s a rough way to say "you ain't guilty", but Joan rather cut her finger off, than admit her wrongs.

 

“You can join”, Ferguson scans the woman from head to toes with challenge in her eyes, “It can be informative for you too”.

 

She returns to her statuesque posture and starts walking again. Vera has just a few seconds to collect her thoughts. She’s not the one to make decisions, but  Joan's fading silhouette forces her to follow. 

 

***

"…Discussing safety policy, we need your involvement here”, middle-aged man with silly round glasses declares. He puts out a handkerchief from chest pocket to clean thick lenses. After doing so, he wipes his ill-looking face too and places the piece of white cloth on the table, next to the folder full of papers.

 

It sends shivers down Joan's spine. She puts her hands under the table and on her knees. She can imagine how the infection spreads across the table surface. Her upper lip twitches. Slight panic waves through her insides.

 

“And why is that?”

 

She glances at the disgusting man again, **_ill man_** on the left-hand side.

 

"Because there are those incidents…”

 

He opens the folder to recall Joan's oversights.

 

“...Like the prisoner, who jumped off the roof”, helps another bald gentleman on the opposite side of the long table. _Oh, what’s his name again?_

 

"Right”, he finally has found something in his notes, “And that hanged woman weeks ago”.

 

Joan clenches her jaw and shifts to the right in her chair, away from this blockhead and closer to Vera, who has been trying her best to make a concentrated grimace the whole meeting. Even though nobody has spotted this act of distaste, Miss Bennett has. It gives her the odd sense of privilege.

 

“What's your point?”, discreetly Ferguson is scratching her palms against the rough material of the uniform pants.

 

“We want you to sign this”, the man slides the document, “It has to become safer here. As the acting Governor you are the one to take actions”.

 

Joan is studying the sheet for a few minutes without even picking it up. Then she finds some strength to put out a pen from her inside pocket and place her hand on the damned document.

 

“Well done, Joan”, he cheerfully pats the back of Joan's hand and she jerkes away as if he burned her.

 

To everyone's surprise she stands up. Her eyes are cruel, but she feels helpless.

 

“Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me... I've got work to do”.

 

On the go Ferguson roughly shoves the pen in its place. She feels that her hand is burning, her arm is burning and her shoulder too. She heads to the office, to her sanctum sanctorum. As fast as she can.

 

Vera allows herself to collect Joan's stuff.

 

“Sorry, I have to go as well”, she copies her boss and leaves.

 

It's not as if anybody has noticed it. Though there's nothing new for her in this.


	3. Chapter 3

“Don’t let anyone in”, Joan barks at her secretary.

 

She can’t even look at her hands. Ferguson would put them into fire, using it as people did to cure Bubonic plague back into Middle Ages. She pushes the door with her shoulder and shuts it down with her elbow. She stops for a second to catch her breath.

 

“Oh my, what’s happened?”, soft girlish voice asks.

 

Being used to the sudden noises Joan throws a lazy glance at the room and finds no one.

 

But she knows this voice too damn well. The only voice she wants to remember and the voice she hears so seldom.

 

Ferguson comes up to the large window. The frequency of suchlike guests troubles her. She needs to look at something **real**.

 

Her stare goes behind the prison yard; she’s seen enough of it already. Her mind urges to be filled with something fresh. After a few minutes of deep studying of the blurred horizon, obsession stops aching in her forehead. Though she remembers about the filth on her hands. She tries to keep them away from everything.

 

“Don’t you dare to ignore me, Miss Ferguson”.

 

Joan leisurely turns around and sees Riley, nestled in the Governor’s leather chair.

 

“Don’t call me that”, she's not smiling, but the dark eyes have lit up with joy as if it’s the only functional human part of her body.

 

Jianna grins, spinning a pen in her fingers.

 

“Come here, take a seat”, Riley playfully pats the armrest with her free hand, “It’s been a long day”.

 

Ferguson gives in. Like a wounded animal she ambles to her den. Normally, woman wouldn’t show it, wouldn’t let herself behave like this if there was not Jianna to comfort her.

 

She sits down and puts out a pack of wipes, throwing it on the desk, but not rushing to use it. Instead she leans back and closes her eyes.

 

“They all tired you out, didn’t they?”, Jianna starts again. Joan feels warmth around her neck and chest as if somebody is hugging her from behind. She acknowledges the falsery of it all and she can't resist obeying to the feeling.

 

“I can’t even imagine how exhausted you are”, Riley’s voice goes to murmur, as if she is some kind of a Joan whisperer.

 

Ferguson hummes in agreement.

 

“And all those people you haven’t saved…”

 

“I had to, but I didn’t want to”, her respond is calm and cold, like there is nothing wrong with it, “They’re parasites for the society. Nothing more”.

 

“My Joannie, but you always kept me safe…”

 

Ferguson feels stung in her chest. Lungs painfully deflate.

 

“…Except that time, when-”

 

“I miss you”, scared to listen further Joan cuts Riley’s speech off, “I miss you so much”.

 

She hasn't got an opportunity to say it out loud for quite a long time. Ferguson doesn't mind Jianna's silence in response. Not at all. Slender fingers touching her cheekbone now are enough. Girl goes to Joan's temple, tenderly tucking loose strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“I love this silverish colour, you know... Makes you look nobler”.

 

“Stop it, this is ridiculous”, Joan finally smiles.

 

_“This really is”._

 

Ferguson opens her eyes to see Ivan. The warmth slips away from her neck, disappearing in the air. Her insides tighten and rage level goes up to infinity.

 

Old man's stare is so judgmental that it makes Joan grab the pack of wipes and throw it at him with all her strength.

 

“Happy now?”, he stands still.

 

“Fuck you! You-”, she jumps up.

 

A few light knocks on the door force the room to go quiet and **normal**.

 

“...Yes?”, there are hysterical notes in Joan's voice. She clears her throat to make it stable.

 

Tentatively Vera shows up from behind the door, not being completely sure if she really may enter. She spots out reddish face of her boss and gets wondered what has happened.

 

“Speak”.

 

“Everybody's waiting for you at the conference room, they-”

 

“What?”

 

“The meeting”, Vera frowns as she always does when things get a bit more complicated than usual, “I reminded you, when I came last time”, she recalls her former visit and her eyes drop to the floor.

 

Shivers go across Joan's body. She throws confused glances at every object in the office, trying to handle all of it. Her skin becomes pale within a second and Vera starts worrying.

 

“Are you alright?” courage to ask this once again comes from nowhere.

 

Joan looks at her, uncertain what to say.

 

“What a habit to stand in the doorway? Get in and close the door”.

 

Vera cautiously does so. “What should I tell them?”, she asks in soft and careful tone. She fears Ferguson as much as she adores her.

 

“I…”, with her hands frozen in unnatural look Joan abstractly points at the thrown pack of wipes.

 

Bennett hesitates to ask leading questions. She has strong hunger for her boss’ approval. The desire boiles her blood. Vera is not herself around Joan.

 

On the floor she detects the white pack, breaking out from the main grey colour scheme of the office. Vera knows Joan is observing. The stare crawls under her skin. Bennett brings the pack of wipes to Joan like a trained dog.

 

“Can you…?”, Ferguson motiones with her index finger to open it and Vera obeys. Joan takes a few wipes by herself. The cool wetness feels greatly against her skin.

 

“Um, nevertheless... What should I tell them, Governor?”

 

Joan is wiping her hands, exploring Vera with hidden interest and maybe-you-are-not-so-pathetic stare.

 

“Nothing. I’m on my way”.


	4. Chapter 4

Empty office greets Vera. Her hands are busy holding thin pile of papers.

 

This is unusual. Joan took the day off. Vera doesn’t know why and she thinks she would never get to know.

 

Bennett has placed the papers on the Governor’s desk and the deed is done. She was up to leave, when shining of dark wood caught her attention. It makes Vera recall Joan’s captivating eyes of the same shade. Still, she hasn't figured out if they were black like dark matter of open space or if there was any hope for something lighter.

 

Shivers go down her spine and shoulders.

 

 _“Oh, come on. Don’t behave like a little girl”_ , Vera thinks to herself.

 

She discovers that she never got a chance to properly study some parts of this dark Kingdom. She touches the table surface with tips of her fingers. Woman shyly smiles — all of this belong to **her**. It feels like she's crossed the line; something that she doesn’t do. With extreme caution she goes round the desk and freezes in front of the leather chair. Fear of being caught completely leaves her.

 

_Is anybody else that insane to hang out on Ferguson's territory?_

 

Putting aside the hesitation, she caresses the chair with her palm. Leather burns her skin with coldness in response, but it isn’t enough to ice her boiling blood down. Vera imagines Joan's broad shoulders being pressed against the back of the chair. Golden crowns as a reminder of who’s in charge; who owns everything in here.

 

These thoughts have squeezed Vera's throat.

 

***

Pointlessly Joan is staring at rosebushes in her backyard. Who would have thought she’s growing flowers? Well, in fact she isn’t. She can’t even remember how she got them. In colour of venous blood they are swinging on the wind. To the ordinary mind they would seem ugly, but Ferguson even likes them.

 

Not that she would admit it.

 

One day Joan went off her mind, willing to break their stems, and in the move of passion she got her hands scraped to the elbows. She appreciates that they can bite back. Roses grow wildly, not in a beautiful way. And maybe that’s the reason she let them be.

 

On the bench, near her relaxed body, there is a half-emptied bottle of vodka. Joan's blood is half-full with it. She drinks till she doesn’t feel right. Normally, woman knows where to stop. But today it’s not about the limits. Her own mind tortures her again.

 

“So? Still remember where you are?”, Ivan is walking around proudly, hands are clenched together behind his back, “Yesterday it seemed a hard task for you to recall where you’ve been and where you haven’t”.

 

“Do you ever shut up?”

 

***

Vera has stroked the back of the chair for the last time, sweeping invisible dust, and finally has let her hands rest by the sides. As a final touch, she's fixed the documents on the desk to make it look neater. Not that she cares for the perfection of things — the messy papers simply don’t fit.

 

On her way out the innocent silence gets murdered by sirens wail.

 

“Oh, gosh…”, she stops before the door. Anxiety grows in her body. Radio on her belt starts hissing.

 

_“Sierra Five to Sierra Three. Code Black in the showers”._

 

And she reaches for it.

 

“It’s Sierra Three. I'm coming”.

 

***

Joan shivers from cold. Fingers got frozen despite the hard drink. Ivan is still narrating with passion in his voice, desperately trying to prove a point.

 

Not paying attention to the endless lection, Joan stands up and heads indoors. When she's closed the door, warmth covers her shoulders as a duvet blanket. Joan limps across the living room and throws her body on the beige couch; on its light upholstery woman’s hair is akin to spilled ink. Lying on her side, she pulls down the sleeves of cardigan to hide her hands in the cloth and puts them between her thighs for double heat. Temple is pressed against the soft surface. In calming and desired silence woman watches her lifeless interior items in a vision rotated to 90 degrees.

 

When she's warmed up and nearly has fallen asleep, the ringing of the phone painfully cuts through her ears.

 

Joan forces herself to get up. It isn’t that hard since she has Spartan upbringing. Her head feels heavier than before. The sound quiets down and she begins wondering if it was real or not. Joan gets puzzled for a second. But that's acceptable — things that were born in this house will die here.

 

The ringing starts with new force and woman finally comes to her senses. She goes looking for the damned phone. Intoxication tries to bring her down, but she owns stronger guts.

 

“I’m listening”, she says, pressing a phone against her ear, “Yes… Yes. I’ll be there in a minute”.

 

Ferguson hangs up and leans on the wall with her head — a short break before the bedlam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lately I'm not sure about using of tenses. In my native lang it's pretty natural to alternate between past and present tenses. Let me know if it's ok in English or nah.
> 
> Thanks for reading! It warms my heart <3


	5. Chapter 5

“…Your unprofessionalism endangers existence of the prison”, Joan's voice is rough and sharp. It's getting dangerously close to becoming roar. But still, she constrains the impulses as efficiently as a person in her condition can, “As well as my career”.

 

One of the officers standing in front of her smirks. It won’t go unnoticed by insightful woman. Her facial expression turns into darker one.

 

“But it doesn’t mean you won’t lose yours, Mister Cooper”.

 

The words are challenging. She threatens; washes away the half-smile from man’s face to build her own. Ferguson seems confident to all of them, except Vera who quietly stands beside her. She points out how the lines on Joan’s face and wrinkles around her eyes became deeper. Bennett sees the exhaustion. She sees… All of this is definitely not what Miss Bennett should think about, but she can’t help it.

 

Reluctantly she throws a glance at the bunch of apathetic people that wish to come back home earlier, but get the higher salary. _“How can they be so indifferent, how can’t they notice?”_ she thinks to herself and inside of her disgust grows.

 

Officers nod;  
exchange glances;  
nod;  
pretend paying attention;  
nod again.

 

As actors of some miserable play they leave one by one in the end, disappearing in corridor.

 

“Vera”, Joan reaches for the door handle faster, “You stay”.

 

Maybe Deputy is foolish, but not stupid. She knows the reason. But fear of unknown creeps in her nape anyway. There is hardly anything predictable in Joan.

 

“How would you rate your role in this?” Ferguson clasps her hands across her chest, entangling both upper arms with long pale fingers, “Professionally”.

 

There’s no mercy in her eyes, just pure tiredness mixed with cruelty.

 

“Governor, I…” she breathes out. Vera can’t stand the violent stare. She’s fascinated by cosmic darkness regardless of its ability to kill her.

 

“You’re just not up to this”, Ferguson wets her lips, “Are you?”

 

It stings.

 

“I don’t know”, Vera is exposed and crucified in front of the woman, “It could happen anytime”.

 

“Not under my watch”.

 

“Those girls...” Vera makes her ill-conceived move, “They were under your watch”, and regrets it at once.

 

In some odd way Joan likes it. It’s either remains of alcohol in her body or sympathy for good old battles. Though whatever the thing is it’s much weaker than her humiliated dignity.

 

“Shut up”.

 

Vera gets startled.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’ve got neither privileges, nor rank to discuss my actions”, Joan would be able to feel like being on fencing battlefield if not the crumbling control over her own mind, “You’re just…” conscious coldness leaves and her stare fills with unexpected venom and rage, “a pathetic Deputy”.

 

It sounds so mockingly that Vera wants to escape. As always. _“She’s right”_ , Bennett thinks, _“I’m not up to anything”_.

 

Joan’s temples start aching. Her head is akin to overheated motor. She knows the feeling. It’s similar to the one she endures in her darkest hours. She shouldn’t be here. She had to stay at home, in her safe den.

 

“Can I go?” Vera doesn’t know how to bite back.

 

“No”.

 

Slight panic reaches Vera's senses. Instinctively she aims herself to the exit. Joan doesn’t get out of the way.

 

“Let me leave”, she raises her head to meet Joan’s eyes again.

 

“You heard what I said”.

 

Vera needs more space; more air. Her breath breaks out and it feels like her brain fills up with thick fog. There’s a precondition for panic attack she hasn’t been having for months. With her mind being occupied by it, she intends to push Joan away. The latest catches Vera’s wrists before she does so.

 

 _“What kind of masochist are you?”_ Joan thinks. Thin wrists are locked in her bigger hands. _“Weak cartilages and bones”._ Ferguson can easily break them. But she won’t.

 

Vera thinks she starts suffocating. Being completely drowned in the feeling she desperately tries to get free.

 

“Calm down and breathe”, Bennett hears from somewhere near her.

 

“I can’t”.

 

“Yes you can”, Joan squeezes Vera’s wrists tighter.

 

“I can't!” sharp pain cuts through Bennett’s perspired spine, but somehow she succeeds in suppressing it.

 

Her knees get faint;  
she gasps for air;  
and nevertheless retrieves functioning of her lungs.

 

Vera inhales as if the whole time she was underwater. Still blurry-minded she finds herself rested against Governor’s chest.

 

Realization brings cold sweat to her neck and forehead.

 

“Told you”, low voice vibrates inside of wide ribcage. Bennett feels it with her skull.

 

As soon as Vera maintains strength and clarity, she pulls away slowly. Their gazes intertwine. Sticky sadness and pain gets hidden in the farthest corner of Vera’s mind. Better deal with it later; alone. She feels twisted for being affectionate with Ferguson even now.

 

Joan finally lets go of tiny wrists. There is a little fright in black eyes that no one would be able to descry but Vera does.

 

“I'm really, really sorry for this”, her voice is too quiet.

 

Joan lightly shakes her head.

 

Within a second small frame bypass a larger one — after all, pathetic Deputy Bennett escapes.

 

“Wait-”

 

“I won’t tell”, Vera says on the go like she’s rushing to somewhere even if she’s not, “I promise”, she says whispery before leaving Joan on her own;

 

in the room full of silence and madness that she will face

 

sooner or later.


	6. Chapter 6

Being locked up in her own thoughts Vera gains pace in the direction of staff room. She can’t stop thinking about tomorrow, about what she will face at home in the morning. It will be new day and new mockings. Another torture.  _“Can this shift last forever?”_

 

She nearly collides with massive body, that has smoothly appeared from the corner.

 

“Oh…” Vera rubs her forehead confusedly, “Governor”.

 

Ferguson acts coldly and detachedly. Though her eyes express severe fatigue as if she's spent her day on harsh interrogation. Tiredness is one of those things that make her look slightly softer, little more humane.

 

“Are you rushing or what?” Joan arches her brow and begins to button up her black raincoat.

 

“Um, no… I mean, I have to call the nurse and check if everything’s alright”, Vera’s attention gets caught by the movements of woman’s fingers, “but it’s not the thing I’d love to be rushing to do”, she breathes in loudly and returns her stare to Joan’s face.

 

Ferguson turns to the exit, leaving Vera with no proper response. The latter noisily chases Governor.

 

“And where would you like to be rushing to then?” woman notices Deputy beside her; not surprised.

 

“I don’t know”.

 

“There are quite a lot of things you don’t know, aren’t there?”

 

“I think there are”, her voice is a bit louder than usual and slightly irritated. Joan can easily recognize the odour of resentment. It provokes a smirk on her face.

 

They stop before the glass door with fresh emblem on it. Ferguson turns around to face her Deputy. Her abrupt motions always make Vera’s heart twitch. “So? May I go?” she asks sarcastically.

 

Ignoring it, Vera goes on, “What has happened today-“

 

“Will stay a secret, yes”, Joan throws a glance at officer behind the reception, making sure he’s not the one who would spread corrupt rumors later. Sharp look comes back to Vera’s eyes, “Anything else?”

 

“I meant… Do you really think I’m”, she stumbles trying to find a right word, “incapable?”

 

“Just return to work”, Joan puts on the fake kind smile.

 

“Of course”, woman painfully bites on the inside of her cheek, stopping the excess words halfway in her throat. She hesitates to annoy even more.

 

“Have a good night shift”, Joan says before clenching her fingers around the metal handle and pushing the door open.

 

“Of course…”, Vera’s voice is too small to be heard now. Large black spot blends in with the darkness outside the building and there is nothing else to do for Vera but get back to the heart of the facility.

 

***

Motor comfortably purrs, mercilessly cradling Ferguson into sleep. Her mind slips away; stare gets lost in the blackness of the night. Her car is akin to missing capsule floating through outer space.

 

She stays awake. She has to.

 

“Tell me something nice”, soft voice flows through Joan’s skull, corrupting depraved mind with seductive tenderness.

 

Ferguson gifts her passenger with admirable glance. Akin to old junk in a closet, her twisted heart holds every tiny remaining of once exploded love. Will it be enough to make icy drilling black holes less violent?

 

 _“Nice”_ , she sneers, _“There’s hardly anything nice about me”_. Woman grips steering wheel and leather squeaks helplessly under her firm fingers. Just like anything else becomes weak under her vicious touch. Prison’s grey isolated tunnels turned her into underground creature, parasitic mole. She will dig through dirt till her eyes won’t get covered with white thorns. But for now, there are a lot of things to do; there are lots of souls to mend and, after all, disparage.

 

“Joan”, girl laughs affectionately, “What are you thinking about?”

 

That innocent face makes woman’s wild thoughts go toothless. She will continue to bathe in delight of exciting opportunities later.

 

“Nothing”, lips get distorted into smile as if it doesn’t belong to her; as if she's stolen it from someone’s mouth.

 

They stop under the provocatively red light. It colours Joan’s hands like warm viscous blood. Her face is calm and frozen in wait. This dangerous stillness always fascinated the young girl. She dares to dive in this smug perfection. Pale hand welcomes the attacking warmth of well-known incomer. Strong fingers surrender and effortlessly get disconnected from the leather upholstery.

 

With her gut Joan feels the upcoming of green light. She wishes to postpone it when her skin gets covered with traces of soft kisses. On the broad face not a muscle is flitching. Gentle passenger considers it as a challenge and lowers Joan’s hand down her dark-skinned chin and then neck. Woman parts her lips and inaudibly inhales. With a slight turn of her head, Joan fixes black glassy pupils on the unbuttoned collar of white shirt and then, her gaze greedily sneak behind it. Being guided by the young girl, her hand unintentionally crosses the joint line of flesh and cloth and keeps sliding down against the soft cotton and heated body underneath it.

 

“Joan”, girl stops before reaching the waist of her pants with Ferguson’s hand. She places woman’s palm on her thin thigh instead, “Will you…”, she slides it deeper in between, “Take care of me?”

 

Ferguson is dangerously close, when car’s interior lights up with faint green colour. With low growl full of desire woman pulls away and reanimates noisy engine. Impatiently passenger watches the sharp and rough moves and wishes to get under the strength of Joan’s arms. The latter picks up the speed to escape the lively part of the city much faster.

 

But before even doing so, she breaks off on the side of the hardly lifeless road. Dense dust envelops the black shiny sedan, not catching up with its speed; completely out of sync.

 

Joan runs her fingers into girl's dark hair, forming a strong and likely painful grip. She drags her passenger closer, pulling her head back, and crashes into fragile neck with longing lips.

 

“Joan…”, girl says breathlessly and places her hands on Ferguson’s tight shoulders, “It’s not safe here”.

 

“You’re safe with me”, persistent kisses and hot breath get lower. With her free hand woman reaches the button on girl’s pants. Her movements are harsh, “I will take care of you”. With soft low voice, Joan smoothes the sharp edges of tension like a sculptor. Girl melts in woman's hands, her body relaxes, though it won’t last long.

 

Without needless asking for permission Ferguson gets under the clothes, simultaneously biting on the bulging out collarbone. Girl grabs Joan by the tie in response, placing another hand on woman’s forearm. Its muscles shift; young girl feels it through the layers of clothes and Ferguson allows herself to go deeper. Feeling woman’s fingers inside her, the girl tightens her grip, nearly chocking Joan and losing breath herself; she moans into the stifled air of the enclosed space.

 

Blood rushes to Ferguson’s temples. As she gains fierce pace, screams get louder; deafening. Woman leans forward, willing to collide with this sound. She covers girl’s lips with her own, still not slowing down. The kiss is different; gentle, careful. It breaks out from the general roughness. This short-term fondling is like acid burns Joan’s jaw. Her neck aches; marks will be left there.

 

Joan breaks the kiss and breathless she nuzzles with her forehead into girl’s cheekbone. The devouring sorrow suffocates more than the tie around her neck. It feels like she’s losing her vision, she’s losing her hearing. She’s losing everything.

 

Loud truck beeping makes her open her eyes. She pulls away from the driverside window, looks around and finds herself all alone. The windows are covered with condensation. Hazard lamps are on. She switches them off in one touch.

 

Wiping the window with her sleeve, she recognizes the out-of-town road.

 

_“How strange”._

 

She leans back in her seat and for a few minutes she just watches the appearing and afterwards disappearing lights of passing by cars. Joan senses bitterness in her mouth and swollenness in her throat. She puts the engine on and frees her neck of the tie, throwing it at the passenger’s seat. She looks at it with slight pain inside of her chest. Young prisoner left her in the draining vacuum of the world. Again.

 

She pulls the belt across her body and locks it. For some reason she worries for her safety, for her **health** ; alien feeling indeed. She turns on the radio, turning up the volume to the maximum. She leaves no room for thoughts in her head. She needs constant noise. She needs no welcoming silence for the images.

 

There’s no way home. She’ll be alone there. **Or not** ; which is worse.

 

Rain starts drizzling against the windshield. Drops are akin to little diamonds; they glow in a most peculiar way. It captivates Joan; she almost smiles at this phenomenon, but shakes the fascination off. It’s better to stay vigilant. She has to stay vigilant. Shining raindrops get wiped away like every beautiful thing on her path. Again and again.

 

***

Ferguson appears like lightning without warning thunder. White light hit her eyes, blinding slightly. She shakes away the stains of rain from her coat.

 

“Damn”, Linda interrupts her meaningless chatting with the officer behind the reception, “What the hell is she doing here?”, she whispers.

 

“Bennett. In my office. Now”, Joan spills her hoarse voice at Miss Miles, “And cover her shift. I can see you’re in a deep search for work to do”.

 

“Yes, Governor”, reluctantly woman moves from the place where she just stood. Extra money won’t harm. Linda narrows her eyes and glances at Ferguson’s departing frame. Hunger for another intrigue bothers her guts.


	7. Chapter 7

It goes like always. Faint knocks, shaky hands, small voice and innocent blue eyes.

 

“Yes, Vera. Come in”, Joan nods. No tension in her words, no demand, “And please, lock the door”.

 

Half intrigued, half nervous Vera does as she was not majestically told, but politely asked. She stays still though, not daring to move further. She needs guidance; a list of actions.

 

She trapped herself on her free will, she realizes.

 

“Come here, don’t be afraid”.

 

Heels click, belt tools jingle. She freezes in front of the desk in a way of a habit. Hands are clenched before her frame as a defensive gesture. She hasn’t learnt how to deal with Ferguson’s steady eyes. And Joan is studying.

 

“I’m not”.

 

They both know it’s not true. Joan leaves it as it is. Her deep stare slides from Bennett's face down her body. It’s so obvious and forthright that Vera's cheeks momentarily flush with red and she struggles to suppress growing embarrassment.

 

“I see tension in your hands. Why?” Joan leans on her elbows; fingers lock together as pieces of a puzzle. She drags herself closer.

 

“Um…”

 

“I hope you are not going to repeat your morning performance, are you?” she smirks. Faint light of the table-lamp paints shadows on her cheeks, “Vera, relax”.

 

“Governor, it’s hard to do when there are hundreds of prisoners around”, she comes up with this lie. Smart one, she believes. But it sounds more like an excuse.

 

“Oh, right”, Joan stands up, “But don’t they bother you when you’re in my office”, she begins to undo her jacket; gold glimmering buttons slide between her fingers one by one, “Drinks?”

 

Vera simply nods. Joan exposes perfectly ironed white shirt and then ruins it by rolling up both of the sleeves with unhidden savory. Miss Bennett occupies one of the chairs; overwhelmed by anxiety, ruining her from the core.

 

“Where’s your tie?” Deputy dares to ask, attempting to defuse the tension. She has noticed it a while ago. How could she not?

 

 “Do you mind me not wearing my tie?”

 

 “No”, she frowns, “Of course not”.

 

“Good”.

 

Ferguson disappears from view and Vera cups her burning cheeks with cold palms.

 

Tonight Joan won't get her drunk. Tonight Joan's honest. And it's so hard to be honest; to offer drinks and really mean it. Without pitfalls her actions are akin to something alien.

 

Joan brings a bottle of vodka in the room like a white flag. For some reason she thought Vera would refuse to share a glass or two – Joan quickly finds herself overestimating things. Deputy is still there, in the office, with longing for Joan's company. Just like it was the last time, when her burnt with alcohol mouth spilled secrets she had to keep safe. Secrets that didn’t belong to her.

 

Glassy bottom hits the desk surface. Liquid shakes inside of the bottle like choppy ocean waves. Two long glasses face the same fate.

 

Loose wrist watch is swinging on Joan’s hand back and forth with every movement she produces, pleading for attention. Vera watches woman’s bare forearms that she never got to see and finds it somewhat intimate. When everything is prepared with surgical accuracy, Ferguson sinks in a chair like a wrecked ship.

 

Women’s knees almost touch and Vera gasps at this might-have-been contact.

 

"To the calm night shifts", Joan lifts a glass, forcing Vera to pick up another one.

 

"That’s right", she responds and gulps the bitter drink like medicine. She didn’t expect this roughness in her throat. It's cold and stingy. Just like the woman in front of her, she thinks. Had Joan chosen this kind of drink unconsciously indeed? Because everything around screams about her.

 

In one movement Joan loosens her hair and it's like hit in a jaw. She is someone else now; not a habitant of this perfectly organized place.

 

"Governor", Vera puts her glass back; its content is nearly touched, "Why am I here really?"

 

"Just", Ferguson reaches for the bottle once again, "Just enjoy yourself", she refills her glass, "And then you can properly rest. At home".

 

Vera cringes at this word and Joan can’t leave it unnoticed, but she will leave it unspoken. She just needs someone right now. Someone to entertain her.

 

Joan’s eyes glow, denoting mild intoxication. Vera doesn't mind taking some time off, but home... No, she won't go there. She would likely roam around the city, exploring its night-time views till her legs start hurt.

 

Vera picks up the glass again. Her trembling hands better stay busy, she realizes. Joan watches her for a second and then bottom of her own glass rises, distorting Ferguson’s face features.

 

Casually she wipes her moist lips with fingers in a way that women wipe away their lipstick. She lifts herself off the chair and rushes to smooth her shirt to get rid of the wrinkles – they won't go away that easy.

 

In four lazy steps she reaches broad window. Joan acts like nobody’s in here. Vera turns around to see Joan standing there: one hand in a pocket, another one holds the glass; woman’s attention gets caught by broad shoulders and massive spine, covered with spellbinding alliance of white cloth and black hair.

 

Suddenly Joan turns around and it makes Deputy’s heart skip a bit.

 

"Do you like it?" Joan points at the window with the glass. Liquid shakes. It almost spills. Almost. Seems like she can control even things like this.

 

"Prison?" big blue eyes are searching for some sense.

 

"Don't be silly. The night".

 

"Oh", Vera sees Joan smiling in a way Governor hasn’t ever done, "To be honest I don't like rain". She supposes Joan does like it.

 

“Of course”, Ferguson turns away; half-smile is still on her lips.

 

Vera stands up too. She pulls down her skirt like a decent woman would do and cautiously walks toward Joan. Steady sound of her heels calms Ferguson as well as the raindrops bombarding window surface.

 

When it gets quieter in the room, they stand beside each other. Women are so close that Vera swears she can feel Governor’s warmth on her own skin. If Joan would give off radiation, Ms. Bennett would end up dead for sure.

 

“You don't want to go home, do you?”, Joan's slightly blurred eyes collide with blue ones. Rainy darkness outside gets replaced with cloudless sky. Fascinating colour, she ascertains.

 

_“Jesus, how pathetic”._

 

Familiar punishment for phantom of buried emotions.

 

Joan closes her eyes for a moment; she has no will to accidentally get sight of _him_. And he’s somewhere near, she believes. Joan can sense that, she can distinguish his constant breathing.

 

Ghostly white fingers wrap around thin wrist as if searching for a shelter. Vera's muscles tense and her lips part in a silent question. She catches the sight of their joint hands without unnecessary extra movements, afraid to mess things up.

 

And this touch is not like the previous one. It's gentle, it's careful. Vera has never felt this special in her life. She strongly desires to lean on Joan’s shoulder; she wants to pretend weak and unwell, so she could have an excuse.

 

Joan’s thumb aims faint strokes at Vera’s veined skin, interrupting her thoughts. At this point Deputy can’t take any more of it.

 

“How do you know?” Vera’s voice is so sudden and loud, that Joan jerks away as if she got caught doing something unhealthy.

 

Ferguson clears her throat and significantly distances herself, “I’ve made an assumption. That’s it”.

 

“Oh”.

 

“Want me to give you a ride then?” Joan looks like she has just done something terrible.

 

“Governor”, Vera dives in the black eyes, “I don’t have much care of mine, but don’t put your life in danger”.

 

Joan frowns. “Go away”, her face changes, “Go home”, her voice gets crucial, “Get out”.

 

“Yes, Governor”, woman responds frigidly, like she has just brought another papers to sign. Like it's just a professional moment.

 

***

Outside of Wentworth she will suddenly feel helpless and lonesome. She will bury her face in her hands, provoking polite questions from the middle-aged cab driver. Sitting in the backseat, she will be thinking about what’s happened till the end of the nigh-time ride; heavy-hearted and still feeling Joan’s warmth on her frozen flesh.


	8. Chapter 8

Vera shuts the front door behind her, not giving the cold fresh air permission to be her guest. It seems like the house is supposed to be nasty. She takes off her shoes. She’s not getting bothered to put them in a straight neat line. Rita used to shout at her for being such a mess. Well, fuck her.

 

"Oh, Miss Bennett”, Sarah addresses her tired glance to Vera. Raspy voice cuts through the air like a buzzing fly, “I thought you would come by the morning,” the book in her hands gets closed; yellow pages are divided with a bookmark.

 

“Me either”, once again she notices girl’s forbidding appearance. Is she the one to judge though? She takes a bag stripe off her shoulder and puts the keys on a kitchen counter instead of the bowl organized specifically for it. Legs automatically lead her to the fridge.

 

Vera inspects its insides like a surgeon. Ground dishes here and there; containers with medications and syringes full of anesthetic solute. It marks Rita's presence. Her mum’s image sticks to her mind. She inhales deeply in attempt to let go the exhaustion, but instead she gets mad at Sarah. Suddenly Vera remembers she didn’t hire a cooking chief, but a nurse to look after her mother.

 

"I have paella with me. Want some?”

 

“If you don’t mind”, now there’s no reason to put blame on Sarah, “I’m starving actually”.

 

***

Leather slides against wet cheek. Stain of tears gets washed away.

 

"Don't fight it", she says. Her voice is silk. The room is filled with it.

 

Hot breath against cold ear, but lips don't reach it. Skin on skin is a forbidden act – it is tenderness and she is not tender with lost girls. Or is she?

 

“Miss Ferguson, please…”

 

"It’s Governor”, she corrects, emphasizing the syllables. There is no need to expose her persona. Limbs embrace a small girl’s figure like sticky tentacles of an octopus.

 

“Please”, she repeats herself like echo in a deep cave. She feels wide titanic ribcage pressed to her spine. Trembling fingers reach for the leathered ones. Little does she know, disobedience is a root of suffering.

 

Joan puts strength to her fingers, enveloping fragile throat.

 

“Governor…”

 

Ferguson fills the precious body with images of her pain and grief as if it's nothing, but an empty jar. She wishes they could come alive, turn into something physical, so she could fight them. “It’s just pain, Joan. Pain is a friend of yours”, she remembers her father saying. It’s a friendship she desperately wants to betray.

 

“You’re hurting me”, she hears through the thickets of her thoughts. It’s fascinating how someone’s life can depend on her decision, however she weakens the grip.

 

"It's just pain", she says rather to herself. Despair makes Joan soft and she hates it. She presses girl’s head to her chest. Joan imagines somebody else against her body. Somebody so different, yet familiar. The girl won’t ever realize it was an act of blessing.

 

***

She’s finally thrown the burden of talking off her narrow shoulders. Maybe today she can get some sleep.

 

Vera stops on her way to the bedroom, puts her weight on the door frame and watches her mother sleeping, rather in pain. Her face is nothing, but an ugly grimace. She wonders if Rita would look like this always. Even when she'll end up dead. Maybe she would look a bit happier or syntetical instead. For Rita, they are synonyms anyway.

 

Her mind goes further and Vera thinks of how free she'd feel if it happens. At first desirable thought terrifies her now. Where did it come from in the first place?


End file.
